Hortus runs pretty short on horticultural, surprisingly enough. Not that the preamble on their website states that that is their focus- it in fact makes no mention of a produce-based sensibility, but I could find no other decent justification for the name. But the Hortus team is wildly proficient in other areas, so I'll forgive the misleading name. Our proprietors helm from such lofty institutions as Blanca, Per Se and Daniel, so their capability wasn't in question. Their roots are in South Korea, and the menu showcases Asian ingredients in a New American style, flirting with that "fusion" label that people so often want to avoid. But here is works rather seamlessly, and to good end. 
will have a much livelier energy once a few souls fill the sculpted-seat wooden barstools, but seeing it empty as a dungeon was disheartening. Up the stairs you pass a mezzanine area with cushioned lounge seating and a striking light fixture, what would look to be an appealing private room or an extension of the bar
for quieter cocktails. In the main dining room the modern design continues, featuring more glowy lighting, sleek glossy surfaces and elegant, silvery-blue velvet seats. Cocktails are strictly sochu-based, but there is also sake and beer, and an extensive wine list, heavy on French but fairly balanced, as well in price, with bottles starting at $38 and only one champagne topping $200. I love the heavy-duty golden "H" magnets that hold the menu pages together: I have to wonder how many of those will, as time goes on, go missing to dining guests with such names as Henry or Helga. Those magnet-constrained pages include the "General" menu (aka "food), a fairly concise selection, although it curiously unfolds, after some raw bar options, with a cheese & charcuterie selection, which is probably not the first thing you'd
think of in a predominently Asian-ish restaurant. After those, there are "To Start" and "To Shares",although we ended up sharing the starters as well as the larger format plates. It was difficult, however, to share the Charcoal Grilled Eggplant, both for its size (just a half a Japanese one) and because it was so good. Meaty minced pork nuzzled into melty mozzarella atop the cushiony nightshade with a flounce of crispy pine-nut studded bread crumbs. I perceive that a gluten-sensitive type might be challenged at Hortus: as many chefs have a sort of go-to additive in their repertoire, the chef here seems to like to add
bread crumbs, which I enjoyed immensely, but they're fairly ubiquitous. They imparted agarlicky crunch to Asian Aglio e Olio, a tangle of thick pappardelle-style rice noodles with bean sprouts and bok choy, whose natural subtlety was vaulted into life with fiery bits of dried chiles slicked in oil beneath... none of which were mentioned on the menu, so the piquancy was an unexpected surprise. There were some peanuts in there, too, adding another booby-trap for the allergy affected.
Moving ahead, there were four shareable entrees: Pork, Beef, Chicken or Seafood, from whence we chose the latter deuce. Oh yes: vegetarians would be pretty screwed here, too. There are a handful of dishes one could piece-meal together, but they are few and far between, and probably not very balanced. But a pescatarian would be thrilled with the bowl of steamed cod, scallops, mussels, shrimp and tiny baby octopi that arrive in a handsome pewter bowl. You can't see the broth in the photograph below, which they very well may have added tableside and I did not notice, but you cannot miss it once it's there, nor for its enticingly alluring perfume or it nourishing, complex flavor. The seafood was fresher than fresh, tender and toothsome, but it was the broth that kept me hogging the bowl to my advantage.
The Chicken was a little less exciting, but still skillfully presented. It was faintly sweet, with a spiced glaze and a char-grilled pepper sliced on the side that imparted varying degrees of incendiarism, the maximum of which I happen to get at first-nibble, putting me out of commission for a spell, aided to great extent by a couple of the crunchy, multi-colored fried potatoes we
ordered as a side dish to tamp the burn. The grilled cabbage that came alongside was kind of the only vegetable we encountered after the eggplant, aside from some token garnish-esque ones that presented themselves more as ingredients. There was kimchi and pickles offered as sides, but I consider those more condiments. For a restaurant called Hortus, the horti are pretty M.I.A. 
Finishing up, you've but one choice: a rice pudding with fresh mango, dusted with pulverized black lime. I don't have a problem with offering but one dessert option, but if you're gonna go that route, you have to nail it. This doesn't. The rice is too dense, lacking any type of pudding consistency whatsoever, and while the lime dust adds a bit of intrigue, the whole dish isn't quite sweet enough to balance its tang. Now, had they called it sticky rice, it might have gone over better, but names matter. If you're going to call it pudding, make it pudding. If you're going to call yourself Hortus, throw in some flora... the Greenmarket is but a stone's throw away.
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